


love itself shall slumber on

by gothyringwald



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Alternate Universe - 19th Century, Alternate Universe - Historical, Anal Fingering, Blow Jobs, Developing Relationship, Dream Sex, Exhibitionism, Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Intercrural Sex, Light Angst, M/M, Masturbation, Past Abuse, Past Relationship(s), Rimming, Scars, Spit As Lube, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-26
Updated: 2017-06-26
Packaged: 2018-11-19 02:40:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11304033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gothyringwald/pseuds/gothyringwald
Summary: Credence Barebone lost his parents and his fortune in quick succession, left destitute and with no friends. When Percival Graves, who had known Credence's father, read of the young man's plight, he extended an invitation for him to come live at his estate, for as long as he needed. Graves had expected to assume some kind of paternal role for the younger man. But once Credence arrived, the feelings the younger man stirred within him were anything but fatherly. It had been years, decades, since Graves had felt such an instant attraction to another and it left him winded.





	love itself shall slumber on

**Author's Note:**

> This is sweeter and happier (I think?) than the tags perhaps imply.
> 
> Edit: [Now have some ~fanfic posters~ for it that I made.](http://gothyringwald.tumblr.com/post/163714722050/fanfic-posters-love-itself-shall-slumber-on-for)

The wind howled, whistling through the gaps of the window, whipping the trees outside into a frenetic dance. Inside, Graves stood at his study window, overlooking the drive. An uneasy feeling settled in his stomach as he waited for the carriage bringing Credence Barebone to his estate. He had invited him to stay, though they had only met once when Credence was quite young, after reading about the tragedy of his parents' death and how he had been left destitute. Graves had known the boy's father, and had been deeply moved by the plight of his former lover's only son. Graves, himself, had never married, had no heirs, and, while altruism was not something that came naturally to him, he had decided to take Credence in, or at least offer him a home while he got himself on his feet.

The house looked unwelcoming to outsiders, he knew, and Graves wondered what Credence would make of the rambling structure. Would he think it imposing, foreboding? A haunted house full of ghouls and monsters, as many in the nearest town did. Graves's grandfather had let it fall to ruin, and while his father had attempted to restore it to its former glory, it now sat somewhere between. Some of the masonry beginning to crumble, repaired unevenly, the grounds overgrown and wild; inside, layers of dust, shattered fabric and upholstery in every room. On the whole, a desolate affair. 

Or, perhaps, Credence would view it as a sanctuary from a cruel world that had taken his parents and fortune from him in quick succession. Graves sighed. He doubted this would be the case – that anyone could find sanctuary in him or his home – but still hoped Credence would find some amount of comfort here, until he could venture out into the world.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of carriage wheels crunching over the snow. He peered out the window to see a tall figure, dressed head to toe in black, step out of the carriage, stumbling slightly on the last step. Graves stepped closer to the window, one hand pressed against the cold glass. The young man looked up, and Graves jerked back; Credence's face was only a blur from this far away, but he seemed to be looking right at Graves.

Graves's heart beat a furious tattoo within his breast as he made his way downstairs.  
__

The drawing room door creaked open and Abernathy said 'Mr Credence Barebone, master,' and stepped aside to allow the young man into the stuffy room. Credence shuffled in, shoulders hunched, one hand tugging at his sleeve. His hair was dark and curled, skin pale, almost luminescent, and he looked at Graves with dark, almond eyes.

Graves's first thought was 'thank God he looks nothing like his father' – Graves was certain he wouldn't have been able to stand that – followed quickly by 'he's much more beautiful than dear Charles had ever been'. A small mercy only, then.

A fire crackled, filling the room with stifling heat. Graves longed to throw open a window but Credence looked chilled from his journey, so Graves only stuck two fingers between his neck and collar, hoping it would alleviate the warmth rising through his chest. 

'It's a pleasure to meet you, Credence,' Graves started, stepping forward. 'I'm Percival Graves. An old friend of your father's. Like my letter said.'

'Pleased to meet you, sir.' Credence struck Graves as a shy young man, head tucked down, eyes darting, curious and nervous. 'I'm uh...' he trailed off, with a frown, perhaps remembering Graves already knew who he was. He wrung his hands and his eyes darted around the room again.

Graves cleared his throat. 'How was your journey?'

'Well, thank-you.' Credence's tongue poked out, and Graves tracked the motion of it across the boy's impossibly pink lips. 'You live very far from town, sir.'

Graves wrenched his gaze from Credence's mouth. 'Yes. I prefer it.' But, thought Graves, someone so young must surely not want to live removed from society. 'Ah, yes, of course. If you need use of the carriage to see your friends or go to a dance, just ask.'

Credence blushed. 'Thank you, sir, but I haven't any friends. Even before my parents died.'

Graves's heart clenched. He knew the pangs of loneliness all too well. 'Well. Still. If you need it or anything else. You only have to ask.'

'That's very kind of you, sir.' Credence had turned his head slightly from Graves, eyes downcast. His lashes kissed the tops of his sharp cheekbones, stark against the faint tinge of pink on the young man's pale skin. Graves's throat felt dry.

Graves had intended to take the boy in as, not a ward exactly, for he was of age, but in some kind of paternal role in memory of the man he'd once loved. But now that Credence was here, his feelings for the boy – the young man – were shaping into anything but fatherly, already. It had been years, decades, since he had felt such an instant attraction to another and it left him winded.

'I...I don't know how to thank-you. Your letter, your letter overwhelmed me, I...' Credence trailed off, sucking in a deep breath. 'I don't think I'll ever be able to repay your kindness.'

'Your father was a dear friend, Credence,' said Graves, and Credence flinched. The mention of his father must still be painful, Graves thought, and cursed himself. 'I wanted to help you. There is no need for any repayment. This is your home, now, for as long as you want.'

Credence nodded. 'Thank-you.'

'Please, no more thanks, I'll get embarrassed.' 

Credence looked at him for the longest moment since he entered the room, pink on his cheeks deepening, before he quickly looked away.

Graves's eyes were drawn to the pale skin above Credence's collar, and he wanted to run his fingers along it. He cleared his throat. 'Abernathy will see you to your room, if you want to get settled in.' He folded his hands behind his back. 'Dinner is at six'.

'Thank-you, sir,' said Credence and followed Abernathy, shoulders hunched. He cast one nervous look back over his shoulder, before he all but scurried from the room. Graves ran a hand over his face and hoped he hadn't made a terrible mistake.  
__

Graves dreamt of Credence that first night. In the dream, Graves and Credence were in the drawing room as they had been that afternoon. Their conversation went much the same but, this time, when Credence said, 'I don't think I'll ever be able to repay your kindness,' Graves reached out and stroked his fingers along the boy's jaw. He cupped it, palm curled around the jutting bones and said, 'There is one way you can repay me.'

And Credence looked up from beneath his dark lashes, eyes burning into Graves, who let his hand slide to Credence's shoulder, pushing until Credence was kneeling at his feet. The boy pressed his cheek to Graves's trousers and said, 'Tell me what to do,' so Graves did. While in reality he tossed and turned in his bed, his dream self told Credence to unbutton his trousers and draw him out, told him to put those plush lips around his cock as he sank his hands into Credence's wavy tendrils, softly fucking the boy's hot, wet mouth. Credence moaned, eyes fluttering shut, long fingers curled around Graves's thrusting hips.

Graves awoke as he came, nightshirt soiled, sticking to him uncomfortably, his sheets in disarray. He groaned, heart pounding from the orgasm, and face flushed with shame. Graves had thought dreams like that were a thing of the past, for him, but it seemed he thought in error. He only hoped they would not plague him every night, as he dragged himself out of bed to clean up.

The next morning, he found it impossible to look Credence in the eye.  
__

Faced with the reality of sharing his home with another person, Graves wasn't entirely sure what to do. He wanted Credence to feel comfortable, but after living alone for so many years, the logistics of it all escaped him.

He had been an only child and never married. Sharing did not come naturally to him. But Credence's sweet, earnest disposition made him wish it did.

Though the house was quite large, it seemed to shrink, become claustrophobic whenever Credence was in the same room. No matter how large the space, they always managed to brush elbows or hands. A frisson of excitement thrilled along his skin whenever they touched. Credence apologised every time their hips bumped or their knees knocked, if Graves didn't apologise first. 

One day, after they had each apologised no less than three times, Graves said, 'Right, new rule: no more apologies for bumping into each other. We may never say anything else.' And Credence, the slightest hint of a shy smile, had nodded his agreement.

He tried to engage Credence in conversation – what had he liked at school, what were his interests, his hobbies, his hopes – but he had never been the best conversationalist, even when he was more in society. Now, he was hopeless. Credence wasn't much better, shy, stuttering words, half muttered. Revealing little of himself, though Graves desperately wanted to know everything about him.

It was difficult to convince Credence that this was his home, he could do as he wished, but the young man, at least, took great solace in the library. Graves often found him tucked up with a book, devouring them with a voracity Graves could appreciate. He too had been a great reader at Credence's age, and still often spent his days ensconced in a favourite nook, book in hand.

When he had told this to Credence, the young man shyly asked what his favourite was. Graves told him it was difficult to choose just one but rattled off some poets, such as Byron, Keats and Blake and then finished by saying he had returned many times to _Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus_ and considered it amongst his favourites. The next day he gave Credence his own cherished copy of _Frankenstein_.

'Take good care of it,' he'd said, pressing the book into Credence's trembling hands. 'It's an old friend. We've been through a lot together.'

Credence nodded, staring in awe at the book. 'Of course, sir. Are you sure I can borrow it?'

'Certain.' Graves said. 'And there's no need to call me 'sir'. We are equals here, Credence.'

'Yes, Mr Graves,' Credence said. Well, Graves thought, that was a start.  
__

Soon, Graves began to suspect there was something more to Credence's shyness than their being strangers. A mystery in his dark eyes that Graves desperately wanted to unravel. It was in the way Credence carefully chose his words, apologised too quickly, curled in on himself. Tried to make himself small, keep out of Graves's way. It stirred something long buried within Graves, a tenderness he hadn't known he still possessed. Just as he wanted to peel away the layers of Credence's clothes, he longed to peel away the layers of the man, himself.  
__

Spring burgeoned, bringing with it blooming flowers, skies that were slightly less grey and gentler winds. One warm morning, Graves asked Credence if he'd like to go for a horse ride. Explore the surrounding countryside. 

'It's beautiful here, at all times, but with the weather warming, I thought you might like to see more than just the immediate grounds.'

Credence bit his lip. 'I don't know how to ride a horse, Mr Graves.'

Of course he wouldn't be able to ride a horse. He'd grown up in the city. Graves rubbed the back of his neck. 'Well, perhaps a walk, then?'

Credence nodded, still somewhat uncertain but pleased, Graves thought, now that he could read the younger man a little better. Once Graves had found some sturdy walking boots for Credence, they struck out, armed with a picnic, pressed on them by the cook.

The sun was high in the sky, and Credence tilted his face up to its rays, with a small, content smile that Graves had not yet seen on his face. It made him stop in his tracks, traitorous heart skipping a beat. 

'Are you all right, Mr Graves?' Credence asked, turning back with a frown. Graves nodded, mutely, and carried on, on clumsy feet.

As they walked, Graves told Credence about the surrounding country, the plants, the history, the names of every field. It all seemed new with Credence by his side, the younger man's awed appreciation warming his heart as the sun warmed his skin.

There was a clearing that in spring was covered in bluebells. Graves led them there and wasn't disappointed at Credence's pleased gasp when he saw the flowers. 

'It's beautiful,' he breathed and then blushed. Closed off, again. Damn it, Graves thought, and wondered how he could get Credence to open up more often.

'Would you like to stop here for lunch?'

Credence nodded and together they laid out the picnic. An array of food sat before them – an abundance of sandwiches, pie _and_ cake, and lemonade – and Graves knew there would be plenty of leftovers.

They sat and ate, mostly in silence, Credence often turning his face up to the sun the way he had when they stepped outside. Graves watched him, remembering how he had thought it would be painful to have a living reminder of Credence's father in his house. But Credence was so unlike his father, Graves often forgot his heritage. Instead, he could only think of Credence as his beautiful, mysterious young companion, whom he longed to embrace.

'I'd never been to the country before you wrote me that letter,' said Credence. 'I like it here,' he added, decisively.

'I'm glad,' said Graves, propped up on one elbow, lying across the blanket.

A breeze loosened a tendril of Credence's hair and, without thinking, Graves reached up and tucked it behind his ear. Graves's fingers trailed briefly along Credence's jaw, the young man looking at him inscrutably for a long moment, before Graves pulled away and turned back to the food. 'Another piece of cake?' He asked and Credence nodded, still looking at him in that strange way.  
__

Sometimes, Graves thought he saw a longing in Credence's gaze when the younger man regarded him. A longing he could recognise as the one that resided within his own breast, filtered through his stomach, his limbs, clawed at his ribs, whether he looked upon Credence or merely thought of him. But it had been many years since anyone had looked at Graves in such a way, and so he couldn't be certain it were true, or his own desires colouring his world. If his feelings would be welcomed. And he didn't want to act rashly, make Credence uncomfortable. Better that they live only as friends, though his heart ached to think of it.  
__

One sleepless night, Graves passed by Credence's room on his way to get cocoa, draughty hall lit by the flickering candle held in his hand, and heard whimpering from within. Without a thought, he pushed the door open, carefully, and saw that the curtains around Credence's bed were shut. He approached, softly said, 'Credence?' and pulled back the curtains. Graves's stomach dropped, and he flushed hot all over. There was Credence, nightshirt bunched around his belly, long, elegant fingers curled over his erect cock.

Graves should have remembered those noises, known it wasn't a nightmare, not pain, but pleasure, that drew them from the young man. But it had been a long time since he'd heard anyone else in the throes of passion, and, when he took himself in hand, he had always been quiet. He should have turned away, too, left, but then Credence looked up, straight into his eyes and Graves couldn't move. 

When Credence didn't stop, just continued thrusting up into his hand, mouth slack and chest heaving, Graves nearly dropped his candle on the bed. Wax dripped, hot, onto his hand but he didn't feel it until later. He could only stand, transfixed, and utterly helpless, one hand gripping the curtain so tight he thought he might rend the fabric. A soft, strangled moan slipped from Credence's plush lips, a keening whine as his thumb passed over the head of his cock. Graves swallowed, thickly, watched as Credence fucked his own hand, milky thighs quivering with exertion, eyes never leaving Graves's own.

When Credence came, he squeezed his eyes shut, head thrown back in pleasure, and Graves fled the room, trembling. His heart beat fast, arousal thrumming uneasily in his blood.  
__

The next morning, Credence didn't come down for breakfast. Graves couldn't eat a bite of his food, stomach churning as he thought of what he'd done, what he'd seen, before he stumbled back to his room, for a sleepless, restless night. He had been unbearably hard, after watching Credence, but flooded with such guilt that, instead of touching himself, had only gritted his teeth and tried to sleep. But the images of Credence kept coming back, unbidden, and eventually he had to relent, though he took little pleasure in it.

Credence didn't come down to lunch, either, and Graves only managed to eat a little, though his empty stomach ached. By three, it was clear that Credence had either taken ill or was avoiding Graves. The latter, he knew, was more likely. 

Graves ventured into the library, thinking Credence may have sought refuge there, but it was empty. It had always been Graves's favourite room, with its floor to ceiling shelves, full to bursting with leather bound tomes, but he had grown so used to seeing Credence in there that it now seemed bleak without him. Graves sighed and sat down with a book picked at random, though he could not focus on its words. The fire beside him crackled and hissed, but he did not feel its warmth. As he was attempting to read, and thinking of calling for someone to at least check on Credence, the door creaked open.

Credence crept in, quiet as ever. He looked paler than usual, dark circles under his eyes; he clearly hadn't slept, either. When he saw Graves, he startled. 'Oh, I didn't think you'd be in here. I'm sorry,' he said and began to retreat, face white as a ghost.

Graves jumped up and crossed the room, caught Credence by one delicate wrist. The younger man's pulse fluttered wildly beneath his fingertips. A silence stretched out between the two men as they stood thus, Graves's fingers wrapped around Credence's wrist, staring at the tendons in Credence's long neck, Credence looking resolutely at the floor. A clock ticked on the mantle. The wind outside the window knocked branches against the glass. Graves's heart thundered in his aching ribs.

His mind raced and he was about to apologise when Credence broke the silence. 'I-I'm so sorry, sir. I shouldn't have been...' he trailed off, sucked in a breath. 'I should have stopped. When I saw you there.'

'I shouldn't have been watching,' Graves said, voice low. The warmth of Credence's skin beneath his fingers, just that little sliver peeking out from his cuff, was intoxicating. 

Credence shook his head, a tendril of hair falling over his brow. 'I shouldn't have been doing that.' He pulled his wrist away, wrapped his arms around himself.

Graves frowned. He was expecting Credence to be angry or disgusted with him, not ashamed of his own actions. 'We all have to...indulge, Credence. There's no harm in it. No wrong in it.' He steeled himself. 'But...what I did. I betrayed a trust. And I am sorry.' Credence didn't reply. Graves's heart sank and he started to walk away. But Credence's small voice stayed his feet.

'I liked you watching.'

Graves turned back. He must have heard Credence wrong. 'Pardon?'

'I liked you watching, Mr Graves.'

'Oh,' said Graves. 'Oh.'

Credence's cheeks were a lovely shade of pink, his eyes bright but glassy in the dim light. He ducked his head. 'Sorry.'

Graves shook his head. 'You have nothing to be sorry for, Credence.'

'Would you...' Credence tugged at the hem of his jacket. He looked up, an unfamiliar determination in his eyes. 'Would you watch me, again? Tonight?'

Heat shot through Graves, settling low in his belly. 'That's what you want?'

Credence nodded, fervently.

'Then yes,' said Graves. 'Yes, of course.'  
__

A draught caught the hem of Graves's nightshirt, brushing it against his knees, as he hovered outside Credence's door. He wondered what he was doing, and turned away several times, stomach a flurry of anxiety, before he raised his shaking arm and knocked. Too gentle, at first, and then too loud.

'Come in,' came Credence's soft voice from behind the heavy door; Graves pushed it open and stepped inside. The curtains around Credence's bed were pulled back, and he sat up straight, back against his pillows. 

'Hello,' said Graves, inanely.

The candlelight cast a warm glow on Credence's pale features, softening the sharp angles of his jaw, his cheekbones, dancing along the loose tendrils framing his face; an altogether ethereal creature, Graves thought.

Credence ducked his head. 'Hello.'

'May I...sit down?'

Credence nodded, so Graves set his candle on the bedside table and slowly lowered himself, sinking into the top mattress, turned so he was facing Credence. 

Credence hugged his knees to his chest, resting his chin atop them, and looked at Graves. He blinked and looked away.

Hair fell over his forehead, and Graves wanted to brush it away, but didn't know if he should. 'Are you sure about this?'

'Yes, but...' Credence bit his lip, then looked back at Graves. 'You once said I could ask for anything I want.'

Graves nodded, tongue too thick to speak.

'I want...would you kiss me? Please?'

Affection flooded Graves, warm and tender, and he said, 'Of course,' then shifted closer, taking Credence's face in his hands. He stroked his thumbs over Credence's cheeks, the younger man's eyes fluttering shut at the touch. His skin was soft beneath the rough pads of Graves's thumbs.

'I've never...' Credence whispered.

'It's all right.' Graves leaned in and kissed Credence on those full, plush lips he'd been dreaming about for weeks. Softly, at first, then with a gentle force.

Credence's hands landed awkwardly on Graves's shoulders as he kissed back, clumsy but enthusiastic. The slick sounds of their mouths moving against each other, Credence's small, choked moans, Graves's own labouring breaths, mingled together as they kissed.

Graves pulled back; Credence's eyes and lips shone in the candlelight. 'Will you show me again?' Graves asked and Credence nodded, slid back. 

The outline of his erection was plain to see through the thin nightshirt. Credence lifted the shirt slowly, revealing knees, slim thighs dusted in dark hair and, finally, his cock, hard and curved against his pale belly. Beautiful, Graves thought as his eyes drifted back to Credence's expectant gaze. So lovely. With his heels planted firmly against the mattress, Credence braced his hands on his thighs. He bit his lip.

'Touch yourself for me,' said Graves, 'let me see you,' and so Credence took himself in hand. Long fingers curling around his erection as they had been the night before. Moving slowly, too slowly, probably, but Graves could only watch, transfixed, as Credence tightened his grip, hips jerking.

'Sometimes I want to...' Credence started.

'Want to what?'

'Put my fingers...i-inside. But I don't know...' he broke off with a moan. 'Don't know how.'

Graves wondered if Credence was playing coy, but, still, voice hoarse, he said, 'I could tell you.' He placed a kiss on Credence's knee, fingers lightly dancing over one slender ankle. 'Do you want me to?'

'Yes,' said Credence, eyes rolling back. 

So Graves took Credence's free hand, kissed his palm and, making sure Credence was looking at him, wrapped his lips around Credence's fingers, suckling them. Credence gasped and Graves smiled. His skin was warm against Graves's tongue, tasted salty. He let Credence's fingers slide from his mouth and then told him exactly what to do, watching as the younger man pushed first one finger inside himself, tentatively, working it in and out as Graves instructed, and then a second, with a little more desperation. He told Credence to pump and twist, arousal licking at him as he watched the younger man fuck himself on his own fingers, thrust into his own hand, never once breaking eye contact.

It wasn't long before Credence's movements grew desperate, erratic and Graves asked, 'Are you close?'

'Yes.' Credence squeezed his eyes shut, hips rolling up.

'Then just let go, darling,' Graves said. Credence's eyes flew open and he looked right at Graves as he came with a keening moan. He was shaking, sweat glistening on his forehead, along the collarbones exposed by his opened shirt. Devastatingly beautiful. 

'Mr Graves...' Tears welled in Credence's eyes and Graves took him in his arms, stroked his hair, whispered reassurances and praise in his ear, until the tears stopped. 

'Sorry,' Credence whispered.

'It's fine, sweetheart,' Graves said, pressing a kiss to his neck. Credence's breath caught at the endearment. Graves added, 'You were perfect.'

'Thank-you.'

Graves pulled back and kissed him, again. 'Are you well?' Credence nodded. Graves placed a kiss on his forehead. A sleepy contentment graced Credence's features, his eyelids drooping. Graves smiled. 'You should sleep. I'll see you in the morning.'

Credence nodded, again, and lay down. He tucked his hands under his face and looked up at Graves. They regarded each other for long moments, Graves barely able to breathe before he reluctantly left the room. He stood outside, leant his head against Credence's door, heart hammering, and cock hard.  
__

It went on that way for some time. Graves would go to Credence's room at night, watch him as he pleasured himself. Hold him after and kiss him, but rarely touching during, except to wrap his hand around Credence's ankle, or brush his hair from his forehead. Credence would look at him the whole time, plush lips wet and parted, dark eyes burning through to Graves's very soul. He would go back to his room, after, trembling with desire and take himself in hand. He never lasted long.

During the day, they would not speak of it. No kisses or embraces were shared, though their touches lingered, gazes staying locked for longer than before. Heavy with meaning and unspoken words. Closer, too, despite the words left unsaid. At ease with each other, in a way Graves had not expected. He had thought his visits to Credence's room would make things more awkward between them, yet the opposite seemed to be happening. Credence was shy, still, but growing a little more confident with each day. A little bolder. His voice clearer, his back straighter, smiles gracing his face more frequently. Sometimes, he even laughed. On those days, Graves thought his heart might shatter.

Graves knew without a doubt, that as each day passed, he was falling deeper into love with Credence Barebone.  
__

A parcel of new books had just arrived and Graves was looking for Credence, eager to show them to the younger man. He had sent away for them without telling Credence, hoping the surprise would please him. But Credence hadn't been in the library, or the kitchen, where he was often found helping the cook, so Graves tried his study.

When he entered the room, Credence was standing by Graves's roll top desk, a piece of paper clutched in his hands. 

'Credence?' Graves said and his stomach dropped as he recognised the letter Credence was holding. Its companions strewn over the desk. Love letters. To Graves. From Credence's father. Credence looked up and dropped the one he was holding, the paper fluttering to the desk, joining the others.

Graves snatched them up. 'These are my private things, Credence.' A heat Graves had never felt toward Credence rose up, anger fuelled by shame that Credence had discovered what Graves had been concealing. It wasn't fair, he knew that, but he hadn't wanted Credence to know.

'I am so sorry, sir, I shouldn't have...' Credence said, tears spilling over his red cheeks. He dropped to his knees, head bowed. His next words quelled, utterly, the anger welling in Graves. 'I should...I should be beaten.'

Graves stepped back, finally setting the books down, had to lean against the desk to steady himself. 'Beaten...?'

Credence nodded. 'I was bad, I'm so sorry.'

Graves shook his head, at a loss for words. Credence shuffled forward, bent over so his palms were flat on the ground. 'Please, sir, I would understand.'

'My god, Credence, no.' Graves tried to get Credence to stand but only managed to get him up on his knees before the young man threw his arms around Graves's thighs.

Credence clung to him, sobbing, muttering 'sorry' and 'please' over and over while Graves held him, one hand stroking through his hair. Cold anger spread through him at whoever had made Credence think he ought to be beaten. He could guess, now, at the dark secrets that lurked in Credence's past, and wondered if the wrongs against this gentle boy could ever be righted.  
__

After the incident with the letters, Graves found he couldn't stomach the idea of going to Credence at night. The young man was vulnerable, that much was clear, and Graves should have been helping him, not taking advantage of him. He spent his days gently encouraging Credence, hoping to boost his confidence, but avoided the younger man's sad gazes, his longing sighs. Ignored the ache tugging at his own ribs, the unbearable yearning to take Credence in his arms and kiss him. After all, it was for the best, wasn't it?  
__

'Is this my punishment?' Credence asked as they sat together in the library. 'For looking at the letters? Is that why you stopped coming to me?' His hands were settled on his knees, which were pressed tight together. 'I don't blame you. I-I deserve it.'

Graves set his book aside and leant forward, resting a hand over Credence's. They were cold beneath his warm palm; his heart beat so fast he felt ill. 'Lord, Credence, no, I-I'm sorry.' Graves ran his other hand over his face. 'I never meant for you to think I was punishing you. I'm sorry.'

Credence nodded, cheeks pink. Long moments stretched out before he asked, 'Do I remind you of him?' Graves knew he was talking of his father. 'Is that why...?'

'No, not at all.' Graves was quick to reassure. There couldn't be someone less like his father, Graves thought, looking at Credence. In manner, in looks, in every way, except that they both had fallen into bed with Graves. He sighed. A suspicion had been nagging at him, since that day in the study and he needed to put it to rest. 'Did he beat you? Is that why you thought I would?'

Credence nodded, tears welling. 'Yes, and Mother.' He wiped at his cheek with the heel of his hand. 'When I was bad. I...I have scars. From the worst times. Does that...do I repulse you, now?'

'No, Credence, never. But I am shocked, to know a man I once loved could visit such cruelties upon you. Someone so gentle and kind.'

Credence turned away. 'I'm not.'

'You are. So gentle, so _good_ , Credence.' He cupped Credence's jaw, the younger man nuzzling his palm, eyes closed.

'I miss you. I feel...adrift. Without you.' Credence's voice broke on the last word.

'Adrift?' Graves asked, with a small, sad smile.

Credence nodded.

'Come here,' Graves said, beckoning Credence to him. Credence hesitated, then all but threw himself into the embrace. 'I never meant to hurt you, Credence. And I would never harm you like your parents did.'

Credence nodded against his neck, sniffling. Graves kissed away his tears, brushing his hair back. He pulled away so he could kiss Credence on the mouth. Credence returned the kiss with fervour, hands threaded through Graves's hair.

It felt like coming home, like he could finally breathe again; it was frightening and exhilarating all at once.

'Will you come back, tonight?' Credence asked, when the kiss had ended.

'Of course. Any night, darling,' Graves said, throat tight. 'Every night, if you wish.'

Credence gazed at him with his dark, solemn eyes, pink mouth set into a serious line and said, 'I do.'  
__

'Take off your nightshirt,' Graves said, one hand resting on Credence's knee. 'I want to see you.'

Credence slid his nightshirt off and set it aside; Graves's breath caught at the sight before him. Dark hair on Credence's chest, stark against the pale, delicate skin stretched over his fine bones. Dusky nipples, the ladder of his ribcage rising and falling with his quick breaths. His flat, quivering belly and everything below Graves had already seen, but it still left him breathless. Graves leaned in and kissed Credence's neck. 'You're beautiful.'

Credence ducked his head, so Graves lifted his chin. The fire in the grate and the oil lamp by the bed cast the room in a hazy glow; the burning wood crackled gently, its scent faint but pleasant. Credence blushed under Graves's gaze and leant in to place a quick, chaste kiss on his lips. 'You're beautiful, too.'

Graves smiled and gently pushed at Credence's shoulders until he was lying down. Credence tugged at Graves's own nightshirt, which he quickly discarded before leaning down to kiss Credence again. He luxuriated in the feel of Credence's skin against his own, soft and warm, the younger man's hands grabbing at his shoulders, his waist as they kissed. Credence's legs parted so Graves could settle between them, one hand gripping his slender thigh, their cocks sliding against each other as they moved.

Their tongues met briefly, before Graves broke the kiss, buried his face in Credence's neck. Credence's breath was warm, damp, where he panted against Graves's skin, fingers digging into his flesh as their hips rolled against each other. It felt good, perfect. But Graves had other plans. A frustrated whimper escaped the younger man's throat as Graves pulled back, brushed a hand over Credence's forehead.

'Will you roll over, so I can see all of you?'

The bed dipped and shifted as Credence nodded, eyes wide, then turned over, settled with his arms folded under his head. Scars, some silvery and thin, others pink and wide, littered the pale stretch of Credence's back. Graves ached to think of the pain inflicted on his beautiful young man, determined more than ever to bring him pleasure and happiness from now on.

'Am I very ugly, Mr Graves?'

'It's Percival,' Graves said, dragging a hand along Credence's back, making the young man shudder. 'And, no, you're not.'

He leaned down and pressed a kiss to the scar between Credence's shoulder blades. 'You're beautiful.' He kissed the jagged raised mark, lower to the left, rough beneath his lips. 'Exquisite.' One to the dimples in his lower back. 'It's the people who did this to you who were ugly. Not you.' Lips brushed against Credence's tailbone. 'Never you.'

'Mr Graves...Percival...' Credence gasped. 'Please.'

'Please what?'

'I don't know, really...I...'

'Did you wash, like I asked you?'

Credence nodded into the pillow hugged in his arms. 'Yes'

'Good boy,' said Graves, and nudged Credence's legs apart, hands grabbing his ass. He ran his thumbs along the soft skin there, then leaned in and pressed a kiss to Credence's hole, smirking as the younger man groaned in surprise. He could smell the soap that Credence had used and, beneath that, the sharp scent that was just him.

'All right?' he asked. Credence nodded, breathed out an emphatic 'yes', so Graves proceeded to undo the younger man with his lips and tongue. Kissing and licking and pushing inside as Credence pressed back against his face, hips tilting wantonly, hands scrambling for purchase, fisting in the sheets.

It had been years since Graves had done this, but he remembered that dark taste well, the feel of tight muscle around his tongue, but most of all the satisfaction of pleasuring a lover this way. Now, made all the sweeter for it being Credence beneath him. Credence who moaned and gasped his name, desperately asking for more, who shoved one hand beneath his lithe body to bring himself off as Graves still worked his tongue in and out, kissing and sucking, wet noises filling the quiet room.

'Percival, Percival...' Credence breathed, and soon Graves felt Credence's orgasm shudder through his body; he pulled back, placed a kiss on Credence's buttock and knelt over him. Saliva dripped down his chin so he mopped it with the back of his forearm. He rubbed a hand over Credence's back, asked if he was well and got a shaky 'yes' in return. Graves smiled to see Credence completely undone, pride swelling to know that he had done this, but could no longer ignore his own aching cock.

'Could I...?' Graves started, hands on Credence's hips, but Credence cut him off, saying, 'Anything, you can do anything.'

'Thank-you,' Graves said, pressing a kiss between Credence's shoulder blades, then arranged them so that his cock was positioned between trembling, sweat-slick thighs. He pulled on Credence's slim hips, told Credence to squeeze his legs together, then thrust, cock sliding through the tight heat. Credence hummed, content, and Graves slid one arm beneath him, pulling their bodies closer together as he rolled his hips. It wasn't long before pleasure overcame him and he spent himself between Credence's thighs, gasping, forehead resting against the back of Credence's neck.

He collapsed on top of Credence, then rolled off, settling on his back. The younger man rested his head on Graves's shoulder. They were both shaking, breathing heavily, smeared with sweat and saliva and come. But Graves had never felt better than in that moment, with Credence in his arms. 'Would it be all right if I stayed, tonight?'

Credence's hand curled around his bicep, thumb tracing lazy circles. There was a desperate edge to his voice when he answered, 'Yes. Please don't leave.'

Graves sighed, brought the blankets up around them, and pressed a kiss to Credence's damp hair. 'Don't worry, my darling. I won't.'  
__

The wind blustered around the bluff, whipping Credence's hair, turning his cheeks and nose pink. There would be a storm soon, Graves thought, eyeing the heavy black clouds above, and they should head home. But he hated to interrupt Credence, who was more at home in the country than Graves imagined he had ever been in the city. He walked straighter, now, shoulders squared, though his head would still duck, occasionally. He would always be shy, but there was a confidence beneath the shyness, now, and it suited him well. He'd grown into himself. 

Credence turned and looked at Graves, smiling wide. He held a hand out; Graves strode forward to catch him up, and threaded their fingers together. They walked hand in hand, and stopped by the edge of the cliff, overlooking the sea. Waves crashed against the rocks below, beating as furiously as Graves's heart surely always would when Credence was near.

'Thank-you,' said Credence. 

Graves turned to find Credence looking at him, adoration clear in his gaze. It stole Graves's breath away. 'What for, my love?'

'For sending me that letter, for bringing me here.' Credence swept one arm out, gazing at the ocean. He turned back to Graves. 'For loving me.'

Graves only smiled and cupped Credence's jaw. 'Always,' he said and kissed Credence as the storm rolled in.

**Author's Note:**

> Title courtesy of Percy Bysshe Shelley.
> 
> This is part of a challenge collection where everyone posts anon and people can guess who wrote it. Feel free to check out the [list of contributors here](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Anonymous_Fic_Game/profile) so you can have a guess, yourself, if you like. (You don't have to say why you guessed, too, but I'm curious) :)


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